The first of the cloaked figures stepped into the clearing, boots silent on the damp earth. The hood shadowed its face, but its attention settled on Lorielei like an icy hand.

Not Argaron.

Her.

“Well,” Loriel muttered, “this is… unexpected.”

More shapes emerged behind the first—five, perhaps six in total. They fanned out, forming a loose semicircle that cut off the path ahead and the thicker brush behind. Whoever they were, they’d worked together before.

Argaron shifted, moving forward enough to intercept a direct attack but not so far that he blocked her movement.

“Can you cast quickly?” he asked under his breath.

“I can cast effectively. Speed is a secondary concern.”

“That may need to change.”

Loriel sniffed. “Then they should have chosen a different day.”

The lead figure lifted a hand. The others halted.

“Travelers.” The distorted voice sounded neither male nor female. “You walk a road that does not belong to you.”

Loriel leaned on her staff.

“All roads belong to those who walk them,” she said. “You might try it sometime, instead of lurking in the bushes.”

A faint pause. Then, “You will surrender the relic.”

Argaron’s stance sharpened.

“We don’t have this ‘relic’ you’re talking about,” he said evenly.

“Not yet,” the figure replied. “But you seek it.”

Loriel snorted. “Do you make a habit of accosting every traveler with vague accusations, or are we a special case?”

The hood tilted toward her. “You carry the mark.”

Her fingers brushed the amulet at her throat, where it warmed against her skin.

Ah. That.

“Religious jewelry is hardly uncommon,” she said. “If that offends you, I suggest you avert your gaze.”

“The symbol is older than your order,” the figure said. “And far more dangerous.”

Argaron’s voice dropped. “They can sense it?”

“So it would seem.”

A figure on her left shifted, stepping forward half a pace. Steel glinted beneath the cloak.

“We are not here to debate,” the leader said. “You will come with us.”

Loriel sighed.

“I’d hoped,” she said, “for at least a full day of travel before being abducted by zealots. It seems my expectations were… somewhat optimistic.”

Argaron’s hand moved. Steel flashed as he drew a blade from beneath his cloak, its edge catching the dappled sunlight. In the same motion, he stepped forward, placing himself between Lorielei and the advancing figures.

“That won’t be happening,” he said.

The forest exploded into motion.

Two cloaked figures lunged from the flanks, blades aimed low and fast. Argaron met them head-on, parrying one strike while pivoting to deflect the other. The clash of metal rang sharp in the clearing.

Loriel didn’t wait.

She planted her staff into the earth, closed her eyes, and focused. Her world narrowed.

The clash of weapons faded, becoming distant echoes as she reached inward to that deep well of power she’d drawn from for centuries. Not for battle—not like this—but for healing, for protection.

For preservation.

Her lips moved, shaping words older than most languages still spoken.

The amulet flared.

Soft, golden light blossomed around her, spreading outward in a gentle sphere. It shimmered like sunlight through water, wrapping around her form—and brushing against Argaron as he fought.

He stepped back into the glimmering light.

A strike that should have wounded him glanced off his armor instead, slowing enough for him to twist away. A second blow lost its force as it entered the edge of her aura.

“Useful,” he muttered.

“I aim to please,” Loriel said, eyes still closed. “Do try not to die. It complicates my work.”

Another attacker broke past Argaron’s guard, darting toward her with alarming speed.

Loriel opened her eyes.

“Oh no you don’t.”

She lifted her staff—not like a warrior, not with practiced aggression, but with precise intent—and struck the ground.

A pulse of energy rippled outward.

The attacker stumbled mid-stride, as though the earth itself had shifted beneath their feet. Not enough to harm—but enough.

Argaron was there in an instant.

His blade swept in a clean arc, disarming the figure with brutal efficiency. The weapon spun away into the undergrowth.

“Stay down,” he warned.

The figure did not. Instead, it raised its head, and Loriel glimpsed its face beneath the hood.

Pale.

Not just fair-skinned—a pallor, as though drained of something essential. Veins dark against the surface. Eyes too bright.

Wrong.

“Argaron,” she said sharply, “don’t let them touch you.”

He didn’t ask why. He adjusted—more distance, more caution, strikes aimed to disable and disarm.

The leader stepped forward at last.

“You resist what you do not understand,” they said.

“Oh, I understand quite enough,” Loriel replied. “Corruption rarely disguises itself well to those who know how to look.”

The leader raised both hands. The air changed.

Loriel felt it—pressure, subtle but invasive, pressing against her mind like a tide seeking entry.

Her breath caught.

Not physical. Mental.

“Ah,” she whispered. “That explains the eyes.”

The pressure increased.

Whispers curled at the edges of her thoughts—indistinct, insistent. Promises. Warnings. Memories not hers.

Loriel’s grip tightened on her staff.

“No,” she breathed.

The whispers grew louder.

“No!” her voice intensified.

“I have tended minds broken by less than this,” she said, eyes blazing now. “You will find mine… uncooperative.”

She drew a breath—and pushed.

Not with force. With clarity. With identity.

Centuries of memory, discipline, faith—every peaceful morning in the gardens, every life she had saved, every prayer she had spoken—she anchored herself in all of it.

The whispers faltered. The pressure cracked. The leader’s hands trembled.

“Impossible,” they hissed.

“Improbable,” Loriel corrected. “Not impossible.”

Argaron seized the moment.

He surged forward, breaking through the remaining attackers with a series of swift, controlled strikes. One fell back, clutching a wounded arm. Another collapsed as he swept its legs from beneath it.

The leader turned toward him—

Too late.

Argaron’s blade stopped just short of their throat.

Silence fell. The remaining figures froze.

“Call them off,” Argaron said, touching the blade to their throat.

For a moment, Loriel thought the leader might refuse. Their eyes shimmered with disbelief. Argaron increased the pressure on his weapon, and a drop of blood trickled down its neck. They lowered their hands. The pressure vanished. The whispers ceased.

“Stand down,” the leader said.

The others withdrew, slipping back toward the trees, though their attention never left Lorielei.

Wise of them, she thought.

Argaron did not lower his weapon.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The leader’s hood shifted somewhat, but it still concealed their face. “We are those who remember what this world used to be.”

“Fanatics,” Lorielei said.

“Protectors of the Past,” the leader corrected. “You meddle with forces beyond your comprehension.”

Lorielei raised a brow.

“You attempted to invade my mind not a moment ago. I assure you, my comprehension is quite adequate.”

The leader’s gaze fixed on her.

“You are not what you appear.”

“On that,” she said dryly, “we agree.”

A tense pause stretched between them.

The leader spoke again. “You carry a fragment of the old covenant,” they said. “That amulet is no mere charm. It is a key.”

Loriel’s hand tightened around it.

“I suggest,” she said, “you speak your next words very carefully.”

“Find the relics if you must,” the leader continued, ignoring the warning. “But know this: awakening them will not restore balance. It will end it.”

Argaron’s jaw tightened. “You already awakened one.”

“And you see the result,” the leader replied. “The world is changing. It cannot be undone.”

“Then why stop us?” he demanded.

“Because you would make it worse.”

“Everyone,” Loriel said with a sigh, “believes they’re the only ones who understand the danger. It’s a tiresome pattern.”

The leader studied her for a long moment.

“Perhaps,” they said at last, “you are different.”

“I am,” she replied. “But not in the way you hope.”

A flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—passed through the leader’s posture.

Then they stepped back.

“This is not finished,” they said.

“It never is,” Lorielei replied.

With that, the figure turned—and vanished into the trees. The others followed, their presence dissolving into the forest as though they’d never appeared.

Silence returned.

For a long moment, neither Lorielei nor Argaron moved before Argaron lowered his blade.

“Well,” he said at last, “that could have gone worse.”

Lorielei let out a breath she hadn’t realized she held and leaned more heavily on her staff.

“Yes. We could be dead.”

He glanced at her. “You held your own.”

She gave him a sharp look.

“I did no such thing. I endured. There’s a difference.”

“A useful one.”

“Mm.”

“What did you mean,” he hesitated, “about them not touching me?”

Lorielei’s expression darkened.

“It wasn’t merely ideological fervor. Something inside them… had been altered. Their life force felt thin. Frayed.”

“Corruption?”

“Yes. And contagious, I suspect. Whether by magic or will, I can’t yet say.”

Argaron frowned. “And the mind attack?”

“Crude,” she said. “But persistent. It would overwhelm the untrained.”

He studied her. “And you?”

Lorielei sniffed.

“I’ve had eight centuries to learn to be stubborn.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Then his expression grew serious again.

“They knew about the relics.”

“They knew enough. Which means we’re not ahead of this problem—we’re already behind it.”

She looked down at the amulet, its warmth now fading.

“A key,” she whispered.

Argaron followed her gaze.

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” she said. “Though I suspect Father Byron did.”

“That bothers you.”

“And it should bother you. It means we are playing a game with pieces we don’t fully understand.”

He nodded.

“Then we learn,” he said.

Lorielei looked up at him. For the first time since leaving the House, she smiled—not with politeness or sarcasm, but something sharper. Determination.

“Yes,” she said. “We do.”

She straightened, adjusting her grip on the staff.

“Come, Master Argaron. You mentioned a town and companions. I would very much like to meet the rest of this ill-considered endeavor.”

He chuckled.

“As you wish, m’lady.”

They left the clearing behind.

But the world beyond no longer felt vast.

It felt awake.

~~~
Read the first part of Lorielei’s journey at: Lorielei: Ready or Not